The Chamber of Deductions
by timeypond
Summary: Sherlock & Harry potter crossover. Quite a while after The Second Wizarding War. John and Sherlock meet at their third year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and neither of them realize how much they are going to mean for eachother. An adventure starts and they have to keep the school safe from harms. Eventually Johnlock.
1. Sherlock

**I do not own Sherlock or Harry Potter. It belongs to BBC and J.K. Rowling. I plan on this fanfic being pretty long, probably twenty chapters or more. **

**This IS a Johnlock fanfiction, however there **_**probably **_**won't be any detailed sex due I'm only fifteen, thus it would not be very appropriate. And I've never actually had sex myself so I'm not so familiar with the subject.**

**Beware if you are sensitive to violence. **

**Let me know if I make any mistakes, and if you have ideas you think would fit in the story, let me know! I really hope you like it.**

A blow against the head and then two more was enough for Sherlock to break, a thing he's never done before. He's had enough. In front of him stood his father, whose eyes went from cold darkness to surprise, and then anger. All the windows and glass furniture had exploded, which was Sherlock's cause. They were wizards, after all, and Sherlock had not yet learned to control his abilities.

The Holmes's house was unusually quiet. Well, it was always quiet, but now there was a sort of a heavy silence, as if everybody and everything – the books, the chairs, and even the walls – were listening.

Sherlock ran upstairs to his thinking room, which was the place he always escaped to when this sort of thing happened, which it often did.

Of course, things hadn't always been like this in the Holmes's house. Sherlock _had _always been smart, and his father _had_ _had_ an alcoholic problem for a long while, but the abusiveness hadn't started until a year ago.

Sherlock had known for a long while that it would finally escalate to this, it did when two strong and very, very different personalities were forced to live under the same roof. But that didn't make him prepared for when the first hit came. Back in those days, Sherlock had been very vulnerable, he cared for people. But with time, the beatings became worse, and Sherlock became stronger. Today, he didn't feel the physical pain he did at first, but still, each time his father's hand smashed the numb body of his, it left a tiny scar in his soul. But Sherlock became better at ignoring it.

His father didn't follow him, so he assumed his mother stopped him in some way. Oh, Sherlock loved his mother dearly. She was indeed the only light in his so very dark tunnel. And Mycroft did some good too, though Sherlock would rather die than admit that out loud.

Sherlock was indeed unloved by his father, and basically by all his pureblood relatives. Sherlock liked to believe it was because of his massive intellect. He really was the smartest human being he'd ever known, maybe apart from Mycroft, per se.

This was the reason of him being abused. Sherlock was arrogant, and a show off, and _that _his father loathed above everything.

His whole family were purebloods, and they were all arrogant and had an intellect above average. But they detested that there was someone much smarter than them who shoved it in their faces all the time, and that left Sherlock alone to be the family's black sheep.

To escape from this cold blooded reality he focused on things that were more important than love and socialization: his work. Sherlock spent his days on the third floor, which was partially Mycroft's, but Sherlock had occupied all the rooms, which left Mycroft living on the second floor with the servants and house elves. He dreaded it, and that made Sherlock love the liberty even more. He could basically make his mother grant him anything.

There were three rooms on the third floor, whereof one of them was his thinking room, which he now was in. Then there was his bedroom, which basically consisted of a bed, a wardrobe, and a desk, where he put all the books he was currently reading. Yep, he read at least seven at once. If you were to ask him he'd probably answer with something about that you can't rest until you know important information you could benefit from in the future.

There was also a lab room, where he tested the experiments he read about in the books. On the door sat an enormous sign that said ''Enter in own risk''. Sherlock's mother laughed at this. Her little Sherlock, doing ''dangerous'' experiments. She really did underestimate him.

However, he had to leave all this very soon. On his eleventh birthday, there was a letter on the doormat. It was an invitation to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He'd lie if he'd indicate it was a surprise, the family _was_ after all purebloods, they had all gone to Hogwarts, even Mycroft, who Sherlock thought lacked magical skills. Or so he said out loud anyways.

So in September he was off. Even though he was too proud to admit it, he was nervous. Most of his family were Slytherins, but lately he had had his doubts he'd make it there. His family had always said he didn't fit anywhere, so what if he didn't?

But he did fit in, apparently, because the sorting hat had sorted him in Slytherlin. There he had spent his last two years. Even though most of the people there were quite smart and snotty like Sherlock, they all detested him, just like his family did.

During his first year, he had been hit more than he ever had before. Even the fifth years loathed him, and sent him anonymous curses. Though Sherlock didn't entirely despise this, hence he learned from the magic they sent, and his knowledge amplified.

Therefore, in his second year, when the boys in his year hit him, he was prepared. He cursed them and threw spells at them that they never would've expected.

But of course the joy of winning over them didn't last long. He soon got into lot of trouble which ended with him scrubbing floors at night, namely detention.

Mycroft, the fat brother of his, didn't let this pass, and as soon as Sherlock behaved inappropriate he sent a letter to their mummy telling her everything. He had been in school for barely five weeks when he'd gotten a howler from his father. Obviously he had seen Mycroft's letters.

Luckily Sherlock had managed to hold the letter closed as he got to the dorm, and that by using a spell he'd remembered from a book he'd read at home. He once again admired his own brain and memory. He was indeed spectacular.

But Sherlock didn't detest Hogwarts because of this. Honestly, it was the best of times he's ever had. The beatings weren't unusual apart from the muggle world. He had always been bullied as a child when his mother took him to a muggle playground to ''learn about the outside world'', as she so nicely put it. But in Hogwarts he had a chance to take benefit from his intellect and his mad experiments he'd done at home. It was his time to shine. Though that didn't stop him from getting in trouble and ''having fun.''

Sherlock wasn't really the one to avoid perils, he _loved_ the thrill, and wherever a problem was, Sherlock was too. Or danger came looking for Sherlock, he didn't know, but neither did he care. As long as he wasn't bored he didn't mind.

He often sneaked up from the Slytherin's common room in the dungeons, to the empty prefect's bathroom on the first floor. It was password protected, but it was child's play for Sherlock to figure it out. Took him about an hour to shadow a prefect to the destination, and with the help of a peculiar charm he'd read about, he was able to eavesdrop and hear the password. Piece of cake.

Once he was there, he took out the equipment that was needed to perform the experiments or produce the potions he needed, either for fun or for a minor case he had snapped up. He kept the cauldron and the other material hidden in the bathroom with an invisibility spell cast upon them. It was a very handy spell and one of his favourites.

After a while, it all became boring to Sherlock. There was nothing new and thrilling anymore. He _needed_ something new and interesting that he'd never dealt with before. Problem was he'd already done what there was to do, well, except for a few nearly impossible things he'd already tried without success and he dreamt of succeeding. Though there was _one _thing he'd never tried and that he never will. Because it was the most demanding, daunting, and challenging mission a person like Sherlock could possibly tackle. And he knew what that was - making friends.

That was presumably the only thing Mycroft and he had in common. They both lived by the motto ''Caring is not an advantage.'' Sure Sherlock had his reasons, but Mycroft's motives were unclear, even for Sherlock. At the time Sherlock spent his being rude and arrogant, Mycroft put on a fake smile and politeness that only Sherlock could see through. That's how Mycroft made his way through life. Sherlock could do the same, he just didn't bother. According to him it was dull.

However, nothing is impossible for Sherlock Holmes, and soon he is to experience the thing he dreads the most. In his third year he is going to meet someone that will change his conception of life, possibly forever.

**Okay so I'm going to begin with background stories about both Sherlock and John, so next chapter will be about John. The third chapter will be in their third year, where Sherlock and John first meet.**

**Next chapter will probably be out in the end of next week, when I begin my summer vacation. I still have loads of homework and a few exams left, and I do put school and knowledge before everything. **

**Let me know if you like this so it'll motivate me to keep writing. Ehum… have a nice day?**


	2. John

**Okay I couldn't keep myself from writing, so the chapter came out a bit earlier than I would've thought. Enjoy!**

**John**

It was the middle of the night and the front door to the Watson's house opened and John, who had been half asleep in the couch in front of the television watching NCIS, had jumped up by surprise.

In the hall in front of him stood his sister Harriet, wasted and noisy as the miserable teenage girl she was.

''If you don't shut the hell up mum is going to wake up and find out that you went out, even though you were supposed to stay home!'' whispered John angrily.

Harriet's breath smelled of vodka when she laughed at him, and John had to try hard not to grimace.

''You're mummy's little prince, aren't you? God, YOU'RE SO DULL, sitting in the sofa and watching one of those boring criminal films of yours. You should live your life like me. Explore a little.'', and with those words she went upstairs, but John stood left in the hall with her words nagging in his head. Was he really… boring?

John and Harriet lived with their mum in a muggle house on the edge of London. Of course, John hadn't yet learned about the term ''muggle.'' But his mother knew exactly what it meant.

Their house had the same red colour as the houses that surrounded them. They were one in the crown. John's theory is that Harriet went out and did mad stuff because of the plainness in her so ordinary life. She needed action. John needed that, too, but instead of derailing as his sister, he experienced action when he watched his action and criminal movies and read his books. Sure John had friends as well as Harriet had, but they were really nothing special. He had never felt the sort of connection as others speak about.

John and Harriet lived without a father. Their mum said he had died in a horrible car accident when John was barely one year old and Harriet was two, thus none of them had the slightest memory of him. Neither did they have pictures of him. Their grandmother said that their mum had burnt them all, how heartbroken she'd been.

John's only memory about his dad was when he was around four or five. His mother had sat on the kitchen floor with bottles of different alcohol and with tears streaming down her wet cheeks. So John had sat down with her and laid an arm on her shoulder, which made her cry even more. It wasn't until years later that he understood why: she'd felt deficient. It was she who was supposed to comfort _him_, not the other way around.

She had talked about him that night - his father. It was probably mostly the alcohol talking, but he had found out information about him that helped him create a picture of him in his head.

Apparently he was quite alike John. They had the same sand blonde hair and blue eyes, and his mother had also said that the two of them were both the bravest men she'd ever had the good fortune of knowing.

But as well as she spoke about the good and great things about Mr. Watson, she also muttered a few incomprehensible things that sounded very strange in John's ears. She mumbled about how his father was far too brave that it was idiotic. She actually called him an idiot. Then she said something that yet today is stuck in John's mind and has left him pensive and pondering for a long time. She indicated that his father put everybody he loved in danger by being so incredible moronic, and that they _still_ were in danger. It all didn't make any sense.

John hadn't told Harriet about the latter.

Then the time had come for John's eleventh birthday, his most memorable birthday, plausibly the most memorable day of his life.

He had woken up quite earlier than usual, exalted and happy. He thought it was going to be a wonderful day. Oh, how right he was.

When he walked down the stairs he heard the buzz of the television. Probably Harriet, he thought, assuming she would most likely avoid him the whole day just for the possibility that their mother might ask her to congratulate John, which she'd rather not do.

John was on the fifth stair step when the smell of homemade pancakes filled his airways and he shivered with pleasure. John came in to the kitchen and there she was, her dark long hair gently brushed and with a huge smile on her face as the turned to face John. She was shining with beauty although she was quite old. The wrinkles on her face had suddenly turned into dimples.

''Eleven years… how time flies, huh?'' Mrs. Watson said as she hugged her son, who was still a few heads shorter than her. John only squealed as he could barely breathe, embraced in her very tight hug.

''Now, go get the mail, and I'll finish making these pancakes.'' She ordered him, but John didn't really mind.

He strolled towards the door and picked up the letters that were lying on the doormat. There was a letter for a ''Harry''. John knew it was for Harriet, still he thought it was odd. No one he knew called her Harry. Then there were several bills and letters from funds addressed to his mum. Then, there was a letter made of old parchment addressed to none other than John himself. Weird, he though. He had never received a letter as this before. He pondered several ideas as he walked back in the kitchen and sat down in one of the comfy kitchen chairs. He was still confused; he hadn't made any reasonable deduction. On the backside of the letter was a shield-like symbol of four animals: A badger, a lion, a snake and an eagle. What was this?

''Mum… do you have any idea what this is?'' asked John as he held up the letter to show her the letter.

And from that moment, everything changed.

His mother's face went from chalk white to red and slightly green, and then white again. Suddenly her wrinkles were back and her dark brown hair seemed to change to a more grey-ish tone. She stared hypnotized at the letter for longer than John felt comfortable with, and his face went red. He looked down at the old floor. He had never seen his mother that scared and chocked.

Then she became aware of her behaviour and she straightened up.

''Let me have a look at that…'' she said with an unstable voice as she reached out her arm, which was shaking uncontrolled.

Not daring to do otherwise, John did as his mother told him to.

She examined it thoroughly, and John doubted she could see the markings clearly. Her hands were very unsteady.

Then she finally turned it around for the last time and with pure fear in her eyes nodded at John.

''Open it.'' She demanded.

Once again he did as he was told. With his mother's eyes fixed on him he slowly opened the letter. His curiosity had reached its point where it didn't feel like curiosity anymore, but fear.

''Dear Mr. Watson'' he read. '' We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.'' He stopped reading when his brain had caught up and realized what the letter said. John wrinkled his face in confusion. What? A wizard, him?

''What does it say?'' his mum spoke, as if she was prepared for the answer. He read out loud:

Dear Mr. Watson,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Two years later

Still, two years later, John could remember the spectacular day of his eleventh birthday.

He had disappeared to Hogwarts on the first of September, with a promise to his mum that he would be careful and not take any risks if they seemed dangerous. His mum had indeed behaved utterly strange since he had gotten his Hogwarts acceptance letter. If John didn't know better, he'd say his mum was hiding something very important from him. But no, this was his mother for god's sake, she would never lie to her own son! Or so John had told himself for almost two years now.

But things haven't yet started to become real. He is still a child. He's starting his third year now and soon John will be forced to grow up, whether he's ready for it or not.

For in his third year, John is going to meet a quite spectacular person.

And that is where this story begins.

_**What is it with his dead father?**_

_**Is John really that dull and boring as many assume?**_

_**Is John's mother indeed hiding something?**_

**Keep reading and you'll eventually find out.**

**The next chapter takes place in Hogwarts, where John and Sherlock finally meet. **

**Please review!**

**Have a good day.**


	3. Meeting

It was as usual crowded at King's Cross Station. John made his way through the crowd, driving into people with his huge trolley as it was difficult to manage.

It was warm and sweaty and smelled of different perfumes in King's cross. Apparently it was a busy day. There were all sorts of people here: men in suits looking high profiled, men in simple t-shirts and jeans, mothers with their daughters, ladies with high heels and well-done hair. John didn't spend time registering their faces as he didn't have much time to get on the Hogwarts express. He had never been this late before – he was always very keen on being there early so he wouldn't miss the train. Well, it wasn't really _his_ fault they were running late. It was the damn London traffic.

John started to wonder if it was some sort of special day this first of September, it had never been this crowded the previous years. It wouldn't surprise John if he had missed something, he had practically lost interest in the muggle world since he begun Hogwarts, and unlike his sister and mother he never read the papers.

It was five minutes till departure when he reached the brick wall that separated the muggle world from platform nine and three quarters.

John started jogging towards the wall, in which you entered the magic world. Luckily it was crowded at King's Cross, so no one saw the short boy with sand blonde hair vanish with his trolley into the wall.

Sherlock sat alone in a compartment. For those who passed, it appeared as sad when Sherlock sat there in the corner, staring out the window with his thoughts somewhere far away. Sherlock didn't mind sitting alone; he thought it was a sign of weakness socializing with others. They needed another human being's company to feel satisfaction and comfort. Pathetic, if you were to ask Sherlock.

Just when the dark haired boy had finished appreciating his own integrity and brilliance, the door to the compartment opened.

Sherlock didn't turn his head, but his eyes followed the boy in the doorway, examined him and deduced him. He had deep blue eyes, sand blond hair, was quite tanned and very short, compared to Sherlock anyway. Obviously he had been abroad long during the summer vacation. He wasn't wearing his robes yet, and his eyes were astonished at the sight of the train. His clothes were of cheap fabric, so the family didn't have lots of money, but enough for vacations for approximately three persons. So either he was the only child or he had a sister and an absent father. Likely the latter, the boy with the welcoming smile and warm eyes seemed to come from a loving family that loved children. Also, there was no sorrow in the boy's eyes, which indicated that his father was long gone, dead at early age Sherlock would say.

The boy with the sand blonde hair closed the door behind him, and then sat down in front of Sherlock. First then Sherlock met his eyes.

''Hi, I'm John'' said the boy. Warm and welcoming voice as well, Sherlock noticed. Then John did something Sherlock dreaded he would do: stretched out an arm and hand, apparently wanting to shake hands. Good manners, Sherlock noted down in his head.

''Sherlock Holmes.'' said Sherlock, and then added ''I don't shake hand.'' Before he went back to staring out the window, seeing the trees fly by as the train accelerated and was now moving at its fastest.

After about ten minutes John opened his mouth and spoke again.

''I've heard about you…'' he said, ''you're a Slytherin, aren't you?''

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the pathetic attempt of small talking, but he answered with a short and toneless ''Yes.''

After a few seconds Sherlock added ''and you're a Gryffindor.''

John looked surprised. ''How'd you know that?'' he asked, unsure if he should be impressed or not.

Sherlock was still gazing out the window when he explained.

''Your bag.'' he said.

''What about it?'' asked John.

''Your parents are wizards so you would most likely wear or carry something that represents your place in this magic school. Your bag has red and yellow stripes, which are the Gryffindor colours.'' Sherlock replied with a voice that indicated that John was stupid. However John wasn't stupid enough to not notice.

Why did John sit with this machine-like person? Did he seek acceptance, and why in that case? Sometimes he wondered why people always want others to accept them. When he thought about it, there were actually only a few persons he really liked and cared for. Sherlock wasn't one of them. So why did he sit here with him and tried to think about something clever to say to make Sherlock like him? Maybe people want others to like them because it gives them a satisfaction and a feeling that they actually matter, even though the person who accepts them doesn't matter.

''Have you been stalking me?'' asked John, clearly bothered.

Sherlock, who wasn't prepared for the question, met his eyes in surprise. Neither John nor Sherlock broke the eye contact.

''No'' said Sherlock, eyes fixed on John.

''Then how come you know all those things about me, my Hogwarts house, and what makes you believe my mother is a witch and my father a wizard?''

''I told you that your bag has-''

''Yes, you did explain that,'' interrupted John, breaking the eye contact. ''But what makes you think my parents aren't muggles?'' John couldn't wait till reveal that Sherlock was wrong.

Sherlock gave away a tiny, superior smirk. ''If you know about me, you know what I'm known for'' said Sherlock mockingly, but didn't give John any time to answer before he started to explain.

''You're tanned, so clearly you've been abroad during summer break, but your family doesn't have much money since the fabrics of your clothes are cheap. I'd say one of your parents is dead and that your mother or father wanted to indulge you and your sister on a trip as you only have one parent. Obviously your father is the one that has died since you have a warm and welcoming smile, fathers can rarely raise their children alone, balance of probabilities. And yes, you have an older sister, and not an older brother, a family in an economic crisis share clothes when they have grown out, but your clothes are rather new, so they haven't belonged to anyone else. Your bag and belongings are not from the muggleworld, and the writing of your last name on the bag is quite old, thus it must have been in your family's possession for long, conclusion: your parents are wizards.''

To Sherlock's surprise John laughed, a real laugher where he exposed his teeth.

''God, you're so dramatic, and wrong, because I'm muggleborn, and that bag is indeed from the muggle world.''

Sherlock nearly gaped, he was… wrong? No, he couldn't be. Completely impossible.

Sherlock didn't have to answer, because the trees became fewer and soon the train slowed down and halted at a station. Sherlock had stood up and was gone before John had blinked. The dark curls surrounding his pale face danced as he walked away in a fast pace. Sherlock's eyes were empty and cold as the colour of the ice on top of the Hogwarts' lake the children go skating on in the winter. His permitted cheekbones made him look superior and mysterious, as a pure Slytherin.

John wished he could say that the boy will wander out his mind as he wandered out the compartment, but he knew that would be a lie.

Sherlock just _knew_ things, and John thought that was both creepy and fascinating. John knew he'll ponder about the dark haired boy for a long time. But god, he was so _rude_ and unpleasant. John was frightened of getting involved with him. Misfortune seemed to be upon that boy, and after all, John _had_ promised his mother not to interfere in anything dangerous. And that's the exact word John would describe Sherlock with: _dangerous._


	4. Potions and Rivalry

School year started off as it always had: with lessons and loads of homework. Already the first night after the first school day John spent writing an essay about the goblins that worked at Gringotts.

The sound of the rain and the warmth from the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room made John feel sleepy, but the thunder and lightning outside prevented him from falling asleep.

''Just for five minutes'' John thought as he closed his eyes and leaned backwards against the warm and comfortable armchair. When his muscles relaxed and he was seconds away from passing the present and falling into a dream, a thunder broke out and he jerked awake.

John had been scared of thunderstorms for as long as he could remember. He had dreamt the same nightmare several times involving loud noises that sounded familiar to thunder, and flashes that John assumed was lightning bolts from a thunderstorm.

The rain was pouring down the window and John watched as the raindrops raced, competing in who could reach the bottom first. As he sat there in the armchair, eyelids slowly falling down, a lightning again lit up the room and John could see the whole sky with its dark clouds through the narrow slit of his eye, except that wasn't all that he saw. The lightning only lasted for a split second, but John could swear that he had seen an animal outside the window, looking right at John with its pale grey-blue eyes and its dark fur soaking wet from the rain. It was the form of a jaguar.

All of a sudden John wasn't sleepy anymore. His body was pumping with energy and thrill that had come from nowhere. He hurried towards the window, searching for the jaguar and the pale eyes he thought were strangely familiar, but the animal was now nowhere to be found, and John started to doubt his sanity and wondered if he had just imagined it all out of boredom.

John was indeed a bit bored. Well, quite a big bit, to be sincere. He refused to admit it, but he dearly craved action and excitement. His mother and sister would probably ask him how insatiable he was, due to the fact that he went to a freaking magic school and practiced magic, and wonder how that could ever not be enough.

To be fairly honest, John had no answer to that. He assumed, even though Hogwarts never failed to astonish him, he had gotten a bit used to it all.

With those thoughts, John went to bed and finally, when the rain and thunder had stopped, he fell asleep to the silence of the night.

Equipped with his expensive quill, ink, old parchment and his potions book, Sherlock walked the hall towards the day's first lesson with the Gryffindores. Sherlock had always walked alone, well, that is except when some slytherin boys chased him and called him a freak. That part wasn't always very enjoyable, though he admitted he thought it was rather pleasant to see them fail as they slowed down and gave up their running.

Sherlock approached the classroom and quickly threw a gaze through the room and scanned the faces that were present. There sat John, alone in the back corner of the room, his hair messy and with dark circles under his dead, blue eyes. Obviously he had had a late night, but Sherlock didn't have to make a deduction to figure that out.

John and Sherlock weren't particularly _friends, _rather enemies. They hadn't had a great start, Sherlock had been arrogant and snotty, and John had insulted Sherlock by telling him that he had made a wrong deduction.

Therefore, when Sherlock walked in the potions room, John stared stubbornly down at his book, though Sherlock doubted he was really reading.

Sherlock sat down at his place at the back of the classroom as their teacher, Professor Abbott, appeared from the door behind the master's desk.

''Morning, students!'' the young teacher said. He was rather new and had his own ways of teaching, which, surprisingly, were quite effective and useful.

''Good morning, Professor Abbott'' the students said, some voices tired and absent, some enthusiastic and impatient. Sherlock neither, he spoke in a neutral and robot-like voice.

''Today, we're going to brew a Babbling Beverage potion, though this potion is initially the fourth graders potion, thus I need you to work in pairs with the one you're sitting next to. Some of you are sitting alone, so Sally, work with Anderson, and John, work with Sherlock! The price of this task is a little flask of veritaserum for the winning pair. Good luck, you may begin now.''

John gave Sherlock a cross glare, indicating that it was his fault they were paired up, then John grabbed his books and sat down next to Sherlock.

''Go get the ingredients on the list and I'll read through the instructions'' Said Sherlock without lifting his head from the book.

''So you're the boss now?'' John replied, obviously irritated over Sherlock's demand.

''Yes, I am.'' He said in a toneless voice.

John only muttered a few inaudible words and walked away to do what he was told.

When he came back he dumped all the ingredients on the desk and started crush the nuts and cut the frogeye. Sherlock followed him with his eyes, watched how he sliced the eye at the exact perfect size and let it cold for exact twelve seconds before throwing it in the kettle. Sherlock was indeed amazed by how John knew exactly what to do, but then he found himself actually just standing there and staring, so he joined in and followed the instructions thoroughly.

It would all had gone well if they hadn't become aware of one another's abilities and skilfulness and started competing. They started to increase the pace, John threw the ingredients in the kettle roughly, which made the half-finished potion spatter on their papers and turn them dark blue. At this point, the people nearest to them were laughing at Sherlock's and John's failure.

John took up a paper that had been the most coloured and whispered _''Scourgify''_, which made the dark blue colour disappear and the text on the paper visible. It was a paper of Sherlock's, though John couldn't help but reading.

_Acrumantela venom, very rare. Forbidden forest, midnight. Investigate._

John nearly gaped at his surprise, but then quickly put down the paper without Sherlock noticing he had ever seen it. They had barely finished their potion before Professor Abott interrupted.

''You may all put down whatever you're holding. Time's up. You should be finished by this point.'' He said, staring at John's and Sherlock's mess with a wrinkle on his forehead. There were scattered giggles in the room and John looked down in embarrassment. Sherlock, however, glared furiously at John, blaming him.

''Well, ehrm, the winning team is quite obvious, really, judging by how you've been working. Congratulations Slytherins Sebastian Moran and James Moriarty, you may stay to collect your price. The rest of you are dismissed'' called Professor Abott.

John turned around to tell Sherlock off, but the dark haired boy had already gone.

Instead of interrogating Sherlock about the investigation he was about to do in midnight, another idea started to take form in John's head. Unwillingly a grin spread on his face and his eyes lit up in excitement. This was action; this was what he had longed for.

I'm truly sorry about the delay, I've just been hella busy with the final exams, and then I visited my brother who lives in another country, and it's just been very hectic.

Next chapter will probably be out within a few days. Have a good day.


	5. Acromantulas' Headquarters

I know I said within a few days, and I'm sorry to the readers that waited (if anybody actually did, lol).

The other day I worked as an walk-on in a filming and the camera was like 1 meter from me, it was really cool. The film is going to be at the movies next year. :D

Anyway, here you go. New chapter.

* * *

When the voices in the slytherin common room died out and were replaced with snoring, Sherlock got up from bed, as quiet and discrete as he could, which for him was not particularly difficult. Keeping quiet was a consuetude for Sherlock. As a part of the Holmes family you were taught and raised not to gibber and talk balderdash. Sherlock didn't mind, really, he preferred it that way. After all, he had been taught the hard way.

Sherlock grabbed his black, old bag, which he had cast an undetectable extension charm over, so that all the stuff he required fit. He had read about the charm in _Great Wizards and Witches Recommend_. The authors indicated that Hermione Granger – the greatest which of her age, who fought Voldemort in the second wizarding war – had used it herself. But then Sherlock already knew this, thus he had been very interested in the story of Voldemorts downfall and had been very keen to know all the details. When Sherlock grew up it had always been his massive project to find out how the three of them – Harry, Ron and Hermione - did it. Of course they had told people about it, they had written about it as well, though there had still been missing parts, important parts. But then Sherlock had gathered all the missing pieces and made a whole puzzle.

The time was one minute till midnight, and Sherlock left the dungeons, heading for the hall and the exit.

John made his way through the first floor, carefully peaking around the corners for prefects, but he didn't see any this time. Five minutes before midnight John found just the place to hide: behind a statue next to the great doors. John would've been here earlier if he hadn't known that Sherlock was always on time. He was never late to the lessons, nor was he early. He arrived precisely when supposed to. John was completely right. Just as the clock struck three, Sherlock came around the corner, walking with determined steps as he approached the great doors that led outside.

Disguised by darkness, dressed in his long, black robes and dark curls he headed towards The Forbidden Forest. John didn't hesitate; he followed after Sherlock before the doors closed behind him.

The weather was perfect for investigations, adventures and persecution. John wondered if Sherlock had planned to sneak out just this night when the weather was good. But he couldn't have, could he?

Not even the slightest wind was detected that night. The only sound came from the owls howling up in the trees, and Sherlock's steps that echoed in the night. John kept his distance, hiding behind objects that were placed around the grounds. He knew it was mostly important that he made no noises, because Sherlock was very observant and the slightest fuss would drag Sherlock's attention at him.

Just as John focused on being quiet and discrete he hit his foot and he fell to the ground, his face and nose down in the soggy grass. Still in pain, John tilted his head a bit upwards only to see that Sherlock had heard him, but couldn't see him. It was indubitably dark outside, and John was lying on the ground, unnoticed. When he heard Sherlock's footsteps again, John carefully sat up, his head banging from ache. What his foot had hit, John didn't see, and he had no time to look either – Sherlock was on the edge of The Forbidden Forest, and if John didn't hurry he would lose track of him.

When John stepped into The Forbidden Forest he went completely blind. The tall trees hid the moon and prevented the moonlight from finding its way into the forest and light up their path. John stood there, helpless and with panic and fear pumping through his body, when there was a light far forward. John felt his muscles loosen up as he saw the silhouette of a boy with curly hair. Sherlock had lit up his wand and was now walking in a fast pace as he could see. Judging by the brisk pace and the determined direction Sherlock knew exactly where he was going and how to get there.

John knew he had to get closer to Sherlock if he wanted to see the path. Problem was, he was quite behind and had to run to get close, and he couldn't see. For all he knew there could be an Erkling lurking in the shadows waiting to lure John away or he would simply run into a tree and faint and get eaten by insects while he was unconscious. John shuddered at the thought of it.

Then came the doubt. Was it really worth getting hurt and risking his life just to bust Sherlock? John considered going back into his warm bed and listening to the fire in the common room dying out. However, that thought only lasted for a second. Curiosity took over and John started jogging, following the light from Sherlock's wand, and with arms stretched forward so that he wouldn't run into a tree.

John was lucky, only with a few scratches and an aching toe from hitting his foot, he approached Sherlock. He followed him for about fifteen minutes, look exchanging between the ground and Sherlock's dark curls and pale skin, shining in the dark night. Sometimes he looked around to make sure creatures weren't present and plotting to kill them.

The forest became more compact and Sherlock stopped. Danger hovered in the atmosphere.

And they stood there in the dead, dark silence, John behind a tree a few meters away watched as Sherlock pointed his lighted wand at the tree next to him and examined it thoroughly.

The darkness surrounding them made John feel so distant. The Hogwarts castle seemed so far away, and his sister and mum in London even further away.

Then a clicking sound made both Sherlock and John straighten up and sharpen their ears. It started out quite quiet, far away. But then the sound amplified as if it – whatever it was – was approaching. As John stood there pensive and dreading, Sherlock took immediate action by climbing up the tree which he was temporarily standing next to. John however, had frozen. He absent watched as enormous spiders proceeded towards John. The sight of the creatures was intimidating and daunting, and as John thought he was condemned, a horrific, panicked scream broke John out of his trance. It was Sherlock crying John's name in panic and fear. John had never heard anything as petrifying.

It was minuets till John's death when he started climbing the tree nearest him, the fastest he could, clinging onto his life.

John didn't see the point in climbing trees; he knew that spiders could climb them as well. It was the little spark of hope that kept him going. Hope is the last thing that leaves your body, and it keeps everyone going.

John hoped that he would be saved somehow. He didn't believe in god, though he now wished he would have. He needed something to turn to.

But then the magic world had never let him down before. Maybe Sherlock would help him. John wondered how it was going for him, was he dead? Did he have anything to protect himself with?

John looked down and saw eight black eyes staring hungry at him. He couldn't bear looking at them while they came closer, so he closed his eyes and kept on whispering ''save me, save me, save me…''

John didn't know how long he sat there and waited for salvation, but the seconds passed without anyone helping him. He wondered if Hogwarts would find their dead bodies, or corpses, how long it would take them to find them, or even if they would _try_ to find them. He felt bad for his mother, who would live all alone when Harriet moved out, which was soon.

A high-pitched scream replaced the clicking sound from the spider and John looked in Sherlock's direction, where the sound had come from. However John couldn't see what had caused the spider's scream; there were too many trees in the way, and too many branches. All John could see were the silhouettes of two creatures fighting. John heard a final scream, and then saw the huge spider in Sherlock's tree fall, breaking several branches and finally hitting the ground.

Not seconds after that, he heard a swishing noise and in the corner of his eye, John saw Sherlock flying on his broom.

''Please'' John whispered as the acromantula was barely one meter from him.

But Sherlock was too late. The acromantula had caught up and was grabbing John's foot with its pincers. John tried to get it loose from its grip, but in vain.

The acromantulas' clicking sound got into John's head like a clock, and John started kicking its terrifying face. He didn't aim, he just kicked and kicked.

John watched as Sherlock pulled out his wand, pointed it at the spider under John, then screamed ''ARANIA EXUMAI''

Panting and with adrenaline pumping through John exhausted body the spider fell and John was free.

Sherlock grabbed his shoulder and pulled him onto the broom, and together, over the trees, they flew away from the acromantula headquarters, with the wind blowing in their faces and through their hair, the sun rising in the horizon and colouring the sky orange, pink and slightly purple.

Even though this was the toughest task John had ever experienced, he felt no remorse. The feeling of winning, the feeling of infinity, immortality, it was priceless.


	6. Shaping My World

Sherlock slowed down and slowly lowered his broom till they were standing on solid ground. Their flight had calmed John down, he wasn't panting anymore, his adrenaline was gone and he would fall asleep within a few minutes for sure.

''What the _hell_ was that?!'' John demanded. ''And why would you go there, are you an idiot?''

''That was Acromantulas. I think we found their colony'' Sherlock simply replied. However John raised his eyebrows fierce, demanding him to tell him more. Sherlock sighed.

''An Acromantula is a monstrous eight-eyed spider which can reach up to fifteen feet. Their-''

''Yes I bloody hell saw that myself!'' John interrupted. Sherlock ignored his input and continued talking as if he was a living encyclopedia.

"Their pincers produce a clicking sound when they're exited or angry, and a poisonous secretion. The female is bigger than the male and can lay up to a hundred eggs at a time. The eggs are soft, white, and huge as beach balls. Rumours that an Acromantula colony exists in Scotland are unconfirmed. Well, now confirmed by Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.

The Acromantula is untrainable and dangerous to both Wizards and Muggles. It's classified by The Ministry of Magic as XXXXX.''

''Seriously, only five X:es? It should be classified with eight X:es, at least!''

Sherlock and John went and pondered for a while. Sherlock was holding his Firebolt broom in his right hand, and John was walking on Sherlock's left side. They watched in silence as the sky went from orange to pink and slightly blue.

Then John started to laugh. It turned out as a giggle, but soon it escalated and they were both lying next to each other in the fragrant grass, roaring with laughter uncontrollably.

John didn't even know what they were laughing at. It was just all too much: first the excitement of shadowing Sherlock, then the fright of being almost alone in The Forbidden Forest. But primarily the fear of dying and the blood pumping through his veins and feeling the body shake in adrenaline.

The thrill of the chase, the thrill of the escape, John wondered if this was how it felt like to be on drugs. He was flying over the moon, genuinely felicitous to be alive, and genuinely happy to again see the stars glitter in the purple-coloured sky, to feel the soft and damp grass caress his neck. The thrill was a kick in his numb and tired body, and John had never felt so alive. Perhaps it was the risk that made it fun and exciting. John wouldn't admit it, but there was a little nagging voice and feeling in his body that craved more. He considered if life was worth living if you didn't _live._ Some people live more in twenty years than others do in eighty, and John knew that he'd rather die in battle and bravery than die of old age. This is your world - shape it yourself or someone else will, he thought.

Sherlock eyed John carefully. John, who was brave enough to come here, was now laughing and watching the stars as if he didn't regret following Sherlock. Maybe he didn't, Sherlock thought. But it would be very odd, almost as if he had already seen the battlefield, deep down in his subconsciousness. Sherlock couldn't get a picture of John's life, and he was curious. He decided to take the case that was John Watson.

''Your broom, how did it get here?'' John asked, obviously confused.

''When I heard the clicking sound, I knew exactly what to do, thus I had the plan worked out for quite a while. I simply used a summoning charm and climbed up the tree to buy me time. I didn't know you were present until some of the acromantulas ran past me towards you.''

A silence fell over them as they laid there. Then after a few minutes Sherlock added casually

''I could teach you the spell, you know. After all you are in the quidditch team and it could come to use.''

''Yeah, maybe'' John said, remembering his promise to his mum. He would stay out of danger he had said, and for now he was going to obey. Sherlock wasn't worth his mum. Not for now anyway.

They both got up and walked across the grass towards the castle. It had started to get rather chilly and John was already half asleep, feeling like a zombie as he made his way through the night. He couldn't remember how he got to the common room without being caught, and he couldn't remember if anyone woke up when he stumbled in the dorm and curled down in his bed. All he remembered was waking up in his bed with his clothes on after a long night in the Forbidden Forest and lying on the grass, watching the stars with Sherlock next to him.

Lestrade's voice woke John up from his daydream about the night before.

''You came back late. You were out '' He smiled slyly.

John refused to answer, knowing what Lestrade was indicating.

''Were you seeing someone, a girl?'' The smug look on his face seemed glued, it didn't disappear.

''No, It's really not like that.'' John replied loftily. Oh, if Lestrade had known.

''Then what were you doing?'' He insisted, but John knew he couldn't tell. He had to keep this a secret. Because everybody detested Sherlock and he didn't want the spider rumour to spread. But mainly because John felt like this was _his _experience, he felt possessiveness, and the secret over it made the night more memorable and special.

''I'll tell you another time'' John said. ''Let's catch up with Carl and the others and head for breakfast in The Great Hall!''

The two of them were the last one in the dorm so they went for The Great Hall to fill their stomachs. The corridor was dead silent, and not a single person was spotted.

Lestrade didn't seem to have noticed so John followed in his lead, trying to ignore the tension.

''What the hell'', Lestrade had stopped, looking out the window down at the Hogwarts grounds. They had walked for about five minutes.

John approached the window and immediately understood why the castle was deserted: out there was basically the whole school, standing in a circle, surrounding something John couldn't see.

''C'mon'' John said, dragging Lestrade towards the doors. ''We need to see what this is about.''

When they got out from the castle John heard spread cries and there where people hugging and crying, pale as ghosts in their faces. The teachers tried to move the students further away.

John didn't hesitate, he made his way through the crowd to the front line, when he stopped and gasped. On the grass laid Alia Cadwell, pale as snow with open, frightened eyes, dead.

With his heart in his throat, John backed away from the crowd. He knew what his foot had hit when he fell on the ground last night. The thought made him feel sick and John would have thrown up if he had had any food in his stomach. His head was spinning round and round and he had to sit down to feel the ground, to feel the earth, knowing that this was real and not a nightmare.

However he didn't sit there for a long while. Barely a minute after, he heard large and heavy footsteps and he looked up to see the half-giant Hagrid holding an annoyed Sherlock in his collar next to him.

''Come with me!'' Hagrid said, dragging John up as well. Together, the three of them proceeded to Hagrid's cabin. Not that John and Sherlock had any choice; they were practically kidnapped by him.

''What are you doing?! Stop dragging us!'' Sherlock ordered.

Hagrid didn't answer. He opened the heavy door to the cabin and scuffed them in, thence going in himself. He looked at them with fury and fear in his eyes, clearly detesting them.

''What did ya do to that poor Hufflepuff girl?! Yeah, I saw you two lying in the grass outside, the same night she was murdered. Weird coincidence? I think not.''

John couldn't believe his ears. Was the ground-keeper accusing them of a murder? That was bloody insane! John stood there raging and ready to defend himself. Sherlock however stood far behind him, watching quietly.

''Why the bloody hell do you think _we_ killed her?! We're _students_, for god's sake!'' John burst out, wanting so desperately to be cleared of the accusation.

''I saw you two having your little moment. It's not very common with homosexuality in Hogwarts, so why would you otherwise sneak out in the middle of the night if you were not afraid to be seen? I just can't believe you would _kill _someone for catching you.'' Hagrid answered as loudly as John.

''Yes, it is _unbelievable_. It didn't happen! And Sherlock and I are not a couple!'' John kept going.

''Then what were you doing? Don't talk balderdash now, tell me with one word! Come on, one word!'' promoted Hagrid.

''Aragog'' Sherlock said. John watched confused as Hagrid's face changed from anger to confusion and then realization. John stared at Sherlock, who had opened his mouth for the first time since they got here.

''So you met his family then?'' aske Hagrid with emphasis.

''What? Sorry, but what?'' interrupted John, his eye exchanging between Hagrid and Sherlock, trying to understand what they were talking about.

''Yes, we did. They were quite… keen to see us'' said Sherlock, a smirk dancing on his face.

Hagrid scoffed, ''Yes, those little rascals.''

Sherlock turned to John. ''Aragog used to be the head male of the colony and he brought up the acromantulas that attacked us last night.''

''How do you know that? It didn't say it in a book since the colony is unknown.''

''Yes, you're quite right. No, I heard them speaking.''

''_What?'' _

''I heard them speaking. They said that they hadn't seen this fresh meet since Aragog's days.''

''Right, enormous spiders capable of human speech, I see.'' John said, trying to convince himself the fact. As the two of them were speaking Hagrid was looking out the tiny window in his packed cabin.

''I believe you then'' said the half-giant. ''How otherwise could you have known about Aragog? And I suppose both of you are incapable of killing someone. However I will ask you to leave now. The body has been moved and the students have gone back to their dorm. Your friends are probably worrying.''

Without another word they went out the cabin and made their way to the castle. The atmosphere was tense and Sherlock's and John's connection was gone as if last night never happened.


End file.
